


Knickerbocker Glory

by fengirl88



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Humiliation, M/M, Mind Control, Oral Fixation, PWP, Semipublic Sex, Telepathic Sex, Temperature Play, ice-cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/pseuds/fengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knickerbocker Glory: (a) British variation on the ice-cream sundae, traditionally served in a tall glass.  This confection definitely involves ice-cream, fruit and cream; may contain other things.<br/>(b) Inappropriate behaviour by Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr in a Westchester ice-cream parlour.<br/>[I may have made up the second definition.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knickerbocker Glory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [second_skin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/gifts).



> Single line extra for kinkbingo: oral fixation; plushie or furry kink; wildcard (hypnosis/mind control); temperature play; humiliation (situational).
> 
> for blooms84, with love and added butterscotch sauce.

Charles Xavier's mouth should probably be classified as an illegal weapon, Erik thinks. Or possibly a controlled substance, though maybe that's a more appropriate label for the things he does with it. Erik never thought of himself as the type to get addicted to – well, anything, really. He's seen the damage that can do and kept himself well clear. Kept himself pure for the fight. It's not that he never indulges – even a warrior must have some recreation if he wants to stay in peak condition. But letting himself _need_ , letting himself become dependent: no.

So he's not addicted to Charles Xavier's kisses, or to any of the other things that impossibly beautiful mouth can do. Even though he knows so many more of those things now than he ever expected to. But the sight of Charles's mouth is... distracting. It makes Erik think of lying in bed first thing in the morning, the way Charles licks at his jawline, rubbing his lips against Erik's unshaven face and then biting his collarbone, just hard enough to make Erik growl with pleasure. Of stolen moments in the kitchen before breakfast, pressing Charles up against the fridge and kissing him till they're flushed and half-hard again, breaking apart only when they hear the young ones clattering downstairs. Of the wet heat of Charles's mouth on him at night in the library, Charles's wickedly clever tongue that has Erik gasping and swearing and beside himself with the desperate need to come. (He wonders how long they've got till the young ones work out what “playing chess” involves these days.) Of the amazing sounds that spill from Charles's mouth as Erik pushes deep and hard into him or ruts between his thighs. Yesterday afternoon in the nursery, for example...

Yes, well. Yesterday afternoon is the reason Erik's cursing Charles's mouth right now. The reason he's sitting in the Cup 'N' Saucer ice-cream parlour, watching Charles enjoying a butterscotch sundae. Such an innocent-seeming, old-fashioned choice; a bit like Charles himself, you might think. If you didn't know any better, which Erik certainly does. Charles sucks whipped cream slowly off the maraschino cherry and licks his lips and groans with pleasure at the stickiness of the butterscotch sauce, and Erik's so hard it actually _hurts_. He knows perfectly well that Charles is doing this on purpose. He knows he's not going to get out of here with his dignity intact.

Erik's got no-one to blame but himself, but knowing he had it coming doesn't make it any easier.

*~*~*

Yesterday afternoon in the nursery, he'd stripped Charles naked and pushed him down onto that bearskin rug Charles has obviously had a thing about ever since he was small. Tearing his own clothes off, pressing his whole body against Charles's and sliding his cock between Charles's slicked thighs, gripping his outstretched hands. Rubbing himself against Charles's perineum and feeling the tremors building as Charles gasped, clenching around him. Each thrust pressing Charles down into the fur, making him rub himself against it, just the way Erik had promised him he would.

“Tell me how it feels,” Erik insisted, and Charles shuddered and stammered “It – ah – it's, soft, oh, it's like – _ah_ – being stroked by – oh, please, Erik I can't, I'm going to –”

The next minute, he was flat on his back, no idea how Charles had managed to flip him over, and Charles was lying on top of him and coming all over his stomach and chest, the wet heat of it and Charles's long wailing cry triggering Erik's own orgasm. He'd felt Charles's pleasure surging and pulsing through his own, the shared climax so intense he'd almost blacked out.

“Doing it Oxford style in the nursery,” Charles said, when he could speak again. “Erik, you're more perverted than I thought.”

“Says the man who's kinky for fur,” Erik gibed, at which Charles kissed him so thoroughly and so long that Erik's cock decided he must be seventeen again and it was time for another round.

It was late afternoon before they'd emerged from the nursery, and from the looks Raven was giving them Erik suspected she knew what they'd been up to. He hoped Charles wasn't broadcasting his sensations to everyone in the vicinity, though they'd been making enough noise to give them away without that.

Charles looked guilty. Blushing like crazy, Erik noted with satisfaction. He loves making Charles lose control.

But he hadn't quite, had he? Even on the point of coming, Charles had still managed to twist out of Erik's grasp, to flip them over so he didn't come on the rug. Still spared a thought for cleaning bills and embarrassment.

And that idea was like a piece of grit in Erik's mind, a little niggle of resentment that had prompted him to tease Charles at breakfast this morning with sly references to bears, or fur, or childish pursuits. He'd conjured up vivid mental images of yesterday afternoon, thinking them _at_ Charles; he knew it was risky to open the connection between their minds, but he couldn't resist it. And Charles had blushed and squirmed and furiously projected _Stop it, Erik_ , while Erik grinned evilly and went on thinking hard about Charles's thighs gripping his cock.

“I was thinking we might go into town later,” Charles had said, in what sounded like a desperate attempt to distract Erik. “Hank needs some more equipment for building Sean's wings.”

“Fine,” he'd said. “It's nice weather for an outing.”

Nice enough to wear that polo shirt he knows gets Charles all hot and bothered, which made for a rather tense drive.

*~*~*

Now he's the one being teased, watching helpless as Charles licks and sucks and swallows. Staring transfixed at the flecks of cream on Charles's lips, _don't think about it don't think about it_ , but it's no good, not with his cock clamouring for attention like this.

“I brought Raven here when she was ten,” Charles says. “She'd never tasted ice-cream before and she went completely blue with excitement. I had to wipe half a dozen people's memories – I thought I was going to pass out from the strain.”

He takes another mouthful of ice-cream and sighs with pleasure. “You should try some, Erik, it's heavenly,” he says.

“No thanks,” Erik says stiffly. He crosses his legs. It doesn't help. He uncrosses them again.

Charles wipes a trace of whipped cream from his mouth with his thumb and sucks it deliberately.

Erik does _not_ groan. Possibly only because he bites the inside of his cheek, quite hard.

Charles's spoon suddenly acquires an unexpected kink. Charles looks at it with an air of innocent bewilderment that wouldn't fool a drunken child of three and a half.

 _Wait till I get you home_ , Erik thinks vengefully.

 _Got to get there first, haven't you?_ Charles teases him.

Erik glares and sips his austere black coffee.

“Coffee smells good,” Charles says. “I think I'll have some too.”

He goes to the counter and Erik tries to will his stubborn erection away, though the view he's getting of Charles's delicious backside isn't helping at all.

Charles comes back to the booth with his coffee – at least _that_ doesn't have whipped cream on top – and carries on reminiscing.

“I used to love getting popsicles from here in the summer. Grape was my favourite.”

Erik has a sudden vivid image of Charles's lips dyed purple from sucking as the phallic icicle melts and drips, giving up its essence – _oh for pity's sake, Charles_.

Charles grins and sucks more ice-cream from his twisted spoon.

“Made my tongue go numb with cold, but I loved it,” he says.

Erik feels an icy touch brush against his neck, just above the collarbone. He looks round, startled; there's nothing behind him. He thinks he must be dreaming till he sees the wicked glint in Charles's eyes.

Oh, he is _not_ going to react to this.

Charles raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Erik says, gritting his teeth.

The next phantom lick teases the hollow of Erik's throat, making him shiver, and the one after that –

Erik gasps as he feels the icy line trace itself slowly along his cock. He knows it's just a mind game, but it feels so real that his hair's standing on end.

Charles pulls the glass of iced water towards him, fishes out a half-melted ice-cube and sucks it. Erik can feel Charles's lips and tongue, shockingly cold against the aching heat of his erection, and it's all he can do not to go cross-eyed.

 _Stop it_ , he tells Charles. His heart's pounding and he can feel the cutlery on the surrounding tables begin to vibrate.

 _Too cold?_ Charles taunts him. _All right, then_. He swallows the last of the ice-cube and takes a gulp of coffee, then another.

The sensation enveloping Erik's cock changes abruptly from cold to hot and he can't suppress a yelp of surprise. Charles looks delighted, as if the trick's succeeded beyond expectation.

_Better?_

_Damn it, Charles_ – Erik groans at the feeling of heat and wetness that's pushing him inexorably towards disaster. He's so turned on already that he's leaking precome. At this rate, Charles is going to need to wipe another roomful of minds.

 _Oh, don't you like that either?_ Charles teases. _What do you want, then?_

He takes another half-melted ice-cube in his mouth and the abrupt change of temperature jolts Erik so hard that the stainless steel napkin-holder folds in on itself from all four corners like a Japanese paper flower.

 _I want to throttle you_ , Erik tells him. _And then I want to tie you to the bed and fuck you so hard you'll be limping for a week._

Charles's eyes go wide at that and he chokes on his ice-cube.

Serves him right, Erik thinks, but the next minute he's having to bite back a groan as Charles takes another mouthful of coffee and the sensation of heat returns, nearly doubling him over. He grips the edge of the table and his knuckles go white.

“Say you're sorry about this morning and I'll stop,” Charles says calmly.

Erik shakes his head and goes on clinging to the table.

“You know I can make you come like this,” Charles says, as matter-of-factly as if they're discussing the weather.

Erik does know, or at any rate he can quite believe it, but he's not sorry about this morning and he's not going to say he is.

Not even when Charles steps up the pressure and holds him trembling on the edge of orgasm, drawing out his torment till Erik can't think straight, can't see straight, can't anything any more, and all he can do is bite his lip till he almost draws blood to keep from crying out as he comes.

“See you in the car,” Charles says, and gets up to go.

Erik concentrates on trying to breathe. There's a damp stain on his trousers and he knows he probably looks like a crazy person. He swears loudly and then has to apologise to the blue-rinsed matron giving him a death glare from two tables away. His heart's still hammering and he's not at all sure he can stand up.

 _Are you ready to leave yet?_ Charles's voice asks, annoyingly.

Erik focuses his thoughts as hard as he can on Charles's zip. He thinks about undoing it, but decides to make it start vibrating instead.

The startled noise Charles makes inside his head is _very_ satisfying.

Charles Xavier is in _so_ much trouble, Erik thinks. At least he _will_ be, just as soon as Erik's worked out how to get out of this blasted ice-cream parlour without being arrested for public indecency.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to blooms84, kate_lear and thimpressionist for beta wisdom, cheerleading and general brilliance.
> 
> I imagine the ice-cream parlour as something like the one in [this post](http://hastingshistoricalsociety.blogspot.com/2009/08/ice-cream-memories.html).


End file.
